


Beer and Popcorn

by Cesare



Series: Foster's Bakery [14]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Curtain Fic, Domestic, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the <a href="http://almostnever.livejournal.com/631350.html">Foster's Bakery AU</a>. At some point down the line, there's moving in together, and a house... and a house party. Originally inspired by <a href="http://chkc.livejournal.com/33832.html">this adorable drawing</a> by Chkc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beer and Popcorn

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Chibi - 2009-12-02 - John in a toque.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/120295) by [chkc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chkc/pseuds/chkc). 



"The garage is done, the exterior's done, the insulation's been replaced with soy foam, there are new carpets upstairs, the hardwood floors have all been checked over down here," Rodney goes down his list. "Everything's hypoallergenic. At least for now. It almost seems like a shame to bring the cat here."

John tips his head back, slowly spinning to look all around. "You can still keep him at your office if you want."

"Oh, no, no way," says Rodney. "Elizabeth told me that where I keep Mahler is symbolic of where I consider home to be, and then she gave me that _look."_

Lifting one shoulder in a careless shrug, John says, "You're going to spend a lot of your time at the lab and I'm going to spend a lot of mine at the bakery. Symbolism, shmymbolism."

"I thought so too," Rodney admits, "but when it comes to this sort of thing I do occasionally find it wise to defer to outside advice."

"Your sister's really got you whipped on that one, huh."

"No! That is-- she may have mentioned-- I simply decided-- oh, shut up," Rodney crosses his arms. "As a matter of fact, I happen to think that it's a good idea to relocate him. The cleaning service at the consultancy switched to new vacuum cleaners that make a high-pitched noise. Mahler hates them. And it doesn't present a very professional image to have a terrified cat burst out of the coat closet the moment you open the door."

"Maybe you shouldn't wait, then. You could move him to your apartment til this place is ready."

"It is ready! The new doors are installed, and all the fixtures we picked." Rodney spreads his hands to encompass the house. "All we have left is choosing paint for whatever we want painted, and then in a few weeks we can start moving our stuff in. We can bring the cat here in the meantime, I'm sure Mahler would enjoy exploring the new space."

"You wanna put a cat through all that?" John wrinkles his nose. "Paint stinks to people, hate to think how it smells to a cat. And then the noise of moving in..."

"It's not as though he wouldn't have plenty of places to hide if it's too much for him. Need I remind you, sixteen closets!"

"Yeah, he'd have plenty of new carpets to pee on, too."

"Mahler is very clean!" Rodney protests.

John shrugs again. "Up to you, buddy. He's your cat."

"It's our house," Rodney counters.

"So...?"

"So-- I'll-- keep him at the apartment until we're moved in," Rodney says. "Huh. How'd you trick me into going with your idea?"

"Don't look at me. That was all you," John drawls. "You know, deferring to outside advice and all, like you totally decided to do on your own without any pressure from Jeannie."

"Get over here and remind me why I put up with all this ill treatment," Rodney says, tugging John close for a kiss.

He was thinking along the lines of christening the place, but John keeps it soft and sweet, his hands lifting to cup Rodney's face.

Eventually John leans back a little and looks around. "You know what? We should have a party."

"Well, of course we'll have a housewarming party once we're moved in," Rodney says. "I started a registry." He feels a little twee about it, but on the other hand, presents.

"Naah. I mean, that's fine too," John dismisses, "but we should have a party _now,_ while the place is empty."

"What? Why? There's nothing to sit on!"

"So, we'll get some beanbags or something. Tell everyone to bring pillows. We could borrow that projector you've got at the lab and show a movie on one of these big blank walls. It'll be fun."

Rodney's interested, but he still feels the need to ask plaintively, "Have I ever done anything to give you the impression that I just love frat house living? Beanbags! Do we really have to regress?"

"Yes. We really have to regress," John asserts, in that weird, firm, almost prim way he sometimes has. Then he cants his eyebrows, looking sly. "Maybe we should just go all out and make it a toga party."

"NO!" Rodney squawks. "Absolutely not, and I don't even care that you're joking, I forbid it anyway, you utter _maniac._ Anyway, we can't. The central heat isn't hooked up yet, won't be for weeks. If anything, you'd better make it a sweater and scarf party."

"Fine, no togas. Knits and mittens. What movie should we show?"

"I don't know, you're the one with the plan... Blade Runner?" Rodney suggests. John pulls a face that clearly communicates _downer._ "Okay, okay. Tron?"

John kisses him this time in a wet, luscious way that portends well for Rodney's christening idea, and murmurs, "Now you're talkin'."

*

Eventually they settle on Raiders of the Lost Ark for the party. Rodney pretends to hold out for Planet of the Apes to see what it gets him, and John bribes him by making a pan of Nanaimo Bars.

"Okay, Indiana Jones is fine," Rodney agrees around a mouthful of delicious chocolate and coconut and sweet yummy custard.

John saunters around smugly after that, basking in his nonexistent victory, but it looks good on him, so Rodney doesn't burst his bubble.

Meanwhile, with his usual efficiency, Rodney juggles both the latest naquadah generator update _and_ planning for the party, because if John has his way, the entire affair will consist of a dozen beanbags, a digital projector and a dream.

Rodney, on the other hand, arranges for catering, complete with rented furniture. At least, that's his intention, and he's sure that sometime in the past few days he called one of the four top-ranked services from the spreadsheet he made and at least got a quote. It's probably jotted down on a note on his desk... somewhere.

It's just that halfway through the week he conceived of an explanation for several of the heretofore unknown signals emitted by the Stargate during the dialing sequence, and since then he's been running simulations nonstop while still pushing ahead on the generator update.

And then John calls to remind him that the party is tomorrow. Somehow "Book caterer" is still on Rodney's to-do list, unchecked.

Beanbags and a dream it is, then.

*

In the end, Rodney's part in the catering turns out to be a massive drink run with Ronon and Evan. Even with all three of them hauling, it still takes two trips to get it all out of the car and into the house.

"You guys took your time," John says, popping his head out of the kitchen. Delicious aromas waft out; Rodney's mouth waters.

The surge of appetite makes him even more waspish than he was at the store. "Evan decided he needed a beer stein, and then Ronon jumped on the bandwagon," Rodney says. "You're lucky I got them back here at all. They'd almost one-upped each other into buying a half-yard glass and a beer boot."

"Did you?" John asks Ronon.

"McKay checked out while we were deciding. Then he said he'd hotwire the car and leave without us." Ronon folds his arms and glares at Rodney.

"He started counting down from thirty," Evan adds. "In the middle of the store. Jesus, he's loud."

"We didn't leave the BevMo on fire behind us. Go back if you want your ridiculous glasses so much," Rodney scoffs. "I've done my part, which is getting the beer here before the party starts." He tries dodging around John to get into the kitchen, but John spins him around in some kind of abominable do-si-do.

"Where do you think you're going?" John asks. "There's nothing for you to thieve in there yet, nothing's done."

"Nothing?" Rodney wails.

"So far all that's finished is the vegan zucchini muffins that you don't like."

"I'll take one," says Rodney immediately. "It's not that I don't like them, it's just that you make so many other things that I like even better."

John looks pleased and fetches him one. It's smaller than the muffins he makes for the bakery, but it has a substantial and nicely crusted top just like the ones from Foster's. Rodney bites almost the entire bottom part off and remembers to ask, "How's the Aga working?"

When they chose fixtures and appliances, John admitted that he wanted an enormous, overpriced, inefficient monster oven called an Aga, apparently because it had four chambers inside it (like cow stomachs, Rodney helpfully mentioned; John made a remarkably sour face,) and came in black (not a reason John admitted aloud, but Rodney has strong suspicions.)

They spent a couple of hours poring over websites together, comparing Aga, Rayburn and Esse ovens. Even the 'energy efficient' models made Rodney's head throb in that special spot on his forehead reserved for rage over bad engineering. Finally Rodney threw up his hands and told John to buy whatever he wanted and Rodney would fix it to not suck once it arrived.

It's a shame he couldn't make it _really_ efficient - a smidge of naquadah would keep it going into their dotage. But he did at least calibrate it to use natural gas at maximum efficiency.

John grins, "It's perfect." He slides two fingers into Rodney's pocket and gives it a little tug, all while looking at him from under his lashes. Rodney's never deciphered what prompts that look or even really what it means, but he knows it's good.

"Back from Costco," a terrifying voice sings out in the entryway. "Who's going to help unload?"

"Oh God," Rodney says, as Evan and Ronon answer the call. "Why, why."

"C'mon, you had to know I'd ask her," John rolls his eyes. "She works for me!"

"Part time! Hardly ever!" Rodney implores.

"I like her," John says, "and you've never given me a good reason why you don't."

"There's nothing wrong with her qua her," Rodney says reluctantly. "I just prefer her to be her somewhere far away from me."

"Someday I want to hear that story."

"What story?" Laura Cadman asks, arms around a barrel of cheesy popcorn, which she immediately dumps on Rodney.

"What am _I_ supposed to do with this?"

"Put it in the living room by the projector for now," John tells him, and to Laura, "The story about how you and Rodney know each other."

"He never told you?" Laura laughs. "Oh boy, maybe you better sit down for this."

"We don't have anything to sit on," Rodney tells her snidely.

"You do too. As soon as Evan and Ronon bring them in."

"What?" Rodney flies out to the-- van? whose van is this? maybe Cadman _stole_ it-- and finds Ronon toting three folding chairs with one arm, a beanbag dangling from the other hand.

Marching back into the kitchen, Rodney asks, "What are we going to do with fifteen beanbags once we get real furniture in here? We are _not_ having a rec room. I will leave that last room empty with nothing but a shelf to hold my eventual Nobel Prize before I let you fill it with bean bags, no doubt with matching wood paneling and a hi-fi."

"We're donating them to the shelter after the party," says John. "I asked Katie to help me pick out things they could use, beanbags and fleece blankets and stuff. We'll take them over tomorrow."

"--Oh."

"So you were telling me how Rodney insulted Allina... what did he call her, again?" John asks Laura.

"Flakier than a dandruff ad," Laura says. "There was also something about how it was more likely that his head would split in half and dancing hamsters would come spinning out of it than that she was right about how an ice age would end the world and bring on the Rapture in 2012. He really went on a tear. Lots of gestures." She does a poor imitation, twirling both hands in the air.

"It was all her fault!" Rodney explodes, indicating Laura. "She set me up!"

"Allina really liked you," Laura says. "At first, anyway. You didn't ask me any questions when I told you I could get you a date with her!"

"So I was supposed to _ask?--_ oh say Cadman, you're not by some chance setting me up with a flower child who believes in numerology and thinks she can _see my aura,_ are you?"

"I didn't really know about all that until the double date," Laura says to John. "I mean, I knew she must be kind of nuts, because she thought Dr. McKay was the bee's knees--"

John clears his throat significantly.

Laura grins, unrepentant. "Yes, I'm calling you a weirdo," she says cheerfully. "Anyway, she really had it bad for him, but she thought he'd be into the numerology since he's a math guy, and when he wasn't, it went downhill pretty fast from there. And then," her grin widens, all malicious sharp white teeth, "when we were leaving, Rodney and I got stuck in the elevator. Four hours of unfiltered Rodney McKay."

"Four hours of unfiltered Laura Cadman," Rodney shoots back. "Four hours of 'Buck up, McKay, it's no big deal to be stuck in a tiny box tenuously suspended by a cable while poorly-trained and worse-paid 'technicians' screw around with the mechanisms keeping us aloft.'"

"You said 'aloft'?" John asks Laura.

"I'm _paraphrasing,"_ says Rodney.

*

Rodney cleverly diverts Cadman from her campaign of slander by assigning her to set up the digital projector. Every time he checks in, he picks a different corner of the image at random and claims it's out of focus, though really he might as well save his breath, since Cadman ignores him, busy entertaining Ronon with shadow animals.

Teyla, Radek, Aiden, and Katie all show up together; Teyla always offers to carpool. She hands Rodney a bag. "John mentioned that there would be no heat, so we brought extra gloves and scarves."

"Hm, thank you," Rodney dangles the bag indecisively. There's no central area set up yet, though there are rumors of a table on the way.

"If you mix up the pairs, people can go around and try to find whoever's wearing the mates to their gloves," Katie says. "It's a good icebreaker!"

It sounds awful to Rodney, but it allows him to deliver the bag right back to Katie, saying, "Good idea! Have at it." He has to move fast to outpace Radek's knowing glare as he retreats to the kitchen.

"Is there, in fact, going to be a table?" Rodney asks John. The kitchen is relatively cozy, the windows misted with condensation, and John looks great in his black turtleneck, _Come to the dark side, we have cookies_ apron and technicolor pink oven mitts.

"Cam's bringing it," says Evan, doing something with cooling racks. "He's on his way."

"How did _Mitchell_ end up... you know, never mind," Rodney says. "Isn't anything ready? I'm starving. Why didn't I cater this? I could have called someone yesterday when I thought of it again. If I paid enough I'm sure they would've done it on short notice."

"Well, for one thing, I hear you're dating a guy who runs a bakery," says John.

Rodney folds his arms. "Man cannot live on bread alone."

John props his hands on his hips, which looks slightly hilarious with the bright pink mitts, and the look on his face is exasperated; Rodney steels himself for the rarity of a genuine disagreement, but rather than snapping, John shuts his mouth and frowns, looking Rodney over. " _Rod_ ney," he shakes his head. "What are you doing? It's cold. Your nose is red."

"It is not," Rodney says, clapping a hand over it. "Is it?"

"No wonder you're getting pissy, you're running around in the cold with your coat hanging open and your gloves in your pockets, genius. Where's your toque?"

Rodney is too pleased that he's successfully trained John to call it a toque to argue. "Here," he produces it from his pocket along with his gloves. "Though if you really think I need warming up, I can think of more expedient solutions."

John mutters something strongly resembling "Yeah, like shoving you in the Aga," but he accommodates Rodney's arm around him and molds to him readily, and he's the one who leans in first for the kiss.

*

Cameron Mitchell is far, far, far from Rodney's favorite person. No one should be allowed to be that hot, and fit, and personable, and competent, and reasonably intelligent all at the same time. (John gets an exemption on the basis of being attracted to Rodney. Rodney hasn't figured out yet why Teyla, Aiden, Ronon, Evan, and basically everyone else they know likewise all get a pass for their unfair share of looks, sense and personality, but the point is, Mitchell _doesn't.)_

So even though John was right and the gloves and toque have improved Rodney's mood, it still sours him to watch Mitchell come booming in, hailed by one and all. When he bellows, "Who's going to help bring in the table?" everyone practically mobs him.

"Whoa, whoa, I just need one of you, and someone to hold the door," Mitchell laughs.

"I'll hold the door, it's my house," Rodney says. "Um. Our house."

He feels a petty surge of satisfaction when Mitchell looks wistful at that, and then regrets the pettiness, overcompensates, and somehow ends up carrying the heaviest end of the long banquet table into the house, which is going to wreak absolute havoc on his back, he's sure.

The table is set up just in time. Carson and Elizabeth arrive with Jennifer in tow and bearing actual grown-up party food-- for a moment Rodney feels like hiding the barrel of cheesy popcorn, but then again, it's delicious cheesy popcorn, he'd much rather have that than hummus and vegetable sticks-- and Evan, Aiden and John begin bringing all the baked goods out, gently steaming in the chill air.

"Oh my god," Rodney says after his first giant bite, "I didn't know you were making something new today, what is this?"

"Apple carrot muffin," John points, "and honey caramel frosting."

"Worth the wait," says Rodney, which for some reason makes John kiss him enthusiastically, not that he's complaining.

"Hey, doc, why's all your winter stuff bright orange?" Aiden asks. "Even the gloves. Where do you even get bright orange gloves?"

"Oh boy, here we go," Mitchell says.

Rodney glares at him and considers going into every non-classified gruesome detail of his mistreatment at the hands of the US Air Force. But the entire tale of woe of his almost-exile to Siberia would distract him from his second apple carrot muffin and it really deserves his full attention, so he summarizes, "I wanted to make sure I'd be visible in extreme weather conditions."

"Those gloves are crazy," says Aiden. "You're always talking with your hands-- with those on you, look like an air traffic controller."

"Or a clown," says Mitchell.

"Hey," John protests, coming out with another armload of goodies, "no clown talk under this roof. House rule."

"John's phobic," Evan says.

"I'm not phobic, they're just creepy."

 _Phobic,_ Evan mouths, and Mitchell grins at him, knocking their elbows together.

Rodney could set his watch by it; five seconds later, John sidles up and kisses the back of his neck. Seeing Evan and Cam being careful always makes John a little more prone to PDAs, which don't otherwise come that easily to him, even now.

Then again, Rodney considers as John slips an arm around his middle and squeezes, maybe it's the fact that this is _their house,_ and _their_ party, that's prompting John be a little more demonstrative.

Or maybe he's just cold. "What the hell!" Rodney jumps as John slips his icicle fingers under Rodney's shirt. "What happened to your hands? Did you _die?_ Newflash: your heart is supposed to beat more than once an hour!" and he makes John put his oven mitts back on.

"I don't know what's more blinding, the orange or the pink," Evan winces.

John flashes a smile. "Wait'll you see the colors we've picked for the walls."

Rodney claims a beer and another muffin and moves out of mauling range as more hungry people crowd in. Half the lab showed up while he wasn't paying attention, and John introduces Simpson and Kusanagi and Esposito and Grodin to Carson and Evan and Cam and Daniel, who snuck in at some point.

"We know a lot of people," Rodney realizes, and tells John, "I blame you."

There's an inordinate amount of mingling and chatter. Rodney uses the time to sample all the dishes that have somehow made their way to the table, even the vegetables.

As well as the beer and soda, there's warm spiced cider from somewhere, and Teyla's made tea. Someone brought a basket of fresh fruit, which makes Rodney peer suspiciously until he's satisfied himself that there aren't any lemons or oranges or stealth citrus like kumquats. At the end of the table, the pile of gloves, scarves and toques rapidly dwindles.

Eventually everyone loads up on food and claims chairs and beanbags, pillows and fleece blankets. Laura starts up Raiders of the Lost Ark, and a smattering of applause greets the opening surge of the score.

Rodney pointedly sits in a folding chair, and John pulls a chair up next to him. But a couple of chocolate-squared muffins later, Rodney finds himself jealous of all the people-piles around them. Laura and Aiden share one massive beanbag, Ronon and Jennifer are side by side on a pair of them; Radek and Teyla have one; Elizabeth is almost in Carson's lap in theirs.

There's a big unoccupied pile of beanbag right beside Rodney's chair, supplemented with a couple of spare throw pillows.

Rodney really wishes he hadn't been so loudly disdainful about the beanbags earlier. The battle between his pride and the prospect of John squashed up close and warm lasts... a while; if Jeannie knew, she'd probably fly down specifically to kick his ass. But eventually, around the time Marion's winning her drinking contest, he nudges John's arm and nods toward the vacant beanbag.

John gives him _such_ a sardonic told-you-so grin that Rodney can't help getting huffy, but it passes once he's got John tucked up next to him, smiling now without a trace of smugness, just pleased, watching the show.

*

Raiders of the Lost Ark was a good choice, Rodney's man enough to admit. Mostly everyone knows it well enough to time their food runs and bathroom breaks during the exposition, and the action scenes are still exciting enough that people whoop and laugh collectively.

The piles of people seem to gradually drift closer together as inaction makes everyone feel the cold more. John snags a blanket for them, and then a second, and a scarf for himself, and still huddles against Rodney's side. Rodney, overheating since the addition of the second blanket, sheds his toque and slides it onto John's head.

"You'll be cold," John says halfheartedly. He's already pulling the hat down to cover the tips of his ears.

"I'm fine," says Rodney. "Or, well, I've let myself in for at least half a dozen different kinds of back trouble, but I'm not cold." He fusses with John's scarf til it covers his neck more effectively and shifts more of the covers onto him.

At some point during the denouement, he feels John's body surrender any remaining tension, and when Rodney looks over he finds John's dozed off. It seems a shame to wake him, so when the credits roll, Rodney eases away and leaves John sacked out with his beanbag and pillow.

He supposes with John asleep, he's nominally the host, so he goes into the kitchen and brings everything in there out to the table. He's not totally sure the half-empty jar of pickles was for the party, but he's not taking any chances. Though half the party ends up drifting into the kitchen anyway.

Fortunately he doesn't have to do any socializing, because Elizabeth is a natural gladhander and can't seem to stop herself from wandering around telling people interesting things about each other, starting conversations. Aiden puts on some music. Zelenka and Daniel are playing chess-- using _Rodney's_ magnetic travel chess set! they'll pay-- and Cadman is trying to get a group interested in I Never. Next time Rodney looks over there, they're playing Quarters instead, Jennifer biting her lip cutely as she aims.

"Are you really going to let him sleep through the rest of his party?" Carson asks when Rodney checks on John.

"He got up before dawn to open the bakery for the morning, and then he closed up there and came right over here to make everything for this," says Rodney. "Besides. I mean..." he bounces on his heels restlessly, not sure what he's trying to say. John wakes easily still, jerking upright whenever there's a change in the room, an unfamiliar sound; sometimes his hand automatically feints toward his thigh.

The fact that he was able to fall asleep here and now, the fact that he's not coming awake tense and alert to search the room with wary eyes... it's a minor miracle. Everyone else may take that show of trust for granted, but Rodney doesn't.

John drowses on, his chest rising and falling slowly, even when Teyla crosses the room and walks within a foot of his head. The covers are pulled up to his chin; since they're just throw blankets, that leaves his feet sticking out, warm blue socks poking up. His scarf's half unfurled, and he's still wearing Rodney's toque, the little maple leaf twisted off-center over the spiky mess of his hair.

"He'll wake up when he's ready," Rodney says.

*

A few people leave over the next half-hour, but the cold seems to be giving many a welcome excuse to snuggle up together, and they're sticking around to take advantage. Laura looks cozy with Aiden's arm around her. Rafaela and Katie are both wearing the same Doctor-Who-worthy long scarf. The chess game has shifted to Daniel versus Teyla, with Radek sharing a blanket draped over Teyla's shoulders and his own.

It's only because Rodney's particularly irritated by Mitchell that he notices the man slipping back into the room while a few couples attempt to dance together without unwrapping from their blankets. And it's only because he's noticed Mitchell that he realizes he hasn't seen Evan for a while either.

He's trying to decide whether he's piqued about that when he sees John sitting up, peering around with bleary eyes. Rodney goes over and offers a hand.

"Did I seriously conk out?" John asks, standing and stretching with a big yawn, blankets draped around his shoulders, toque askew. "What'd I miss?"

"Just lots of chatting," Rodney dismisses, and drops his voice. "And also, I'm 80% sure Mitchell and Lorne just had sex in our house."

John rubs his chin, regarding him. "Give them a break, okay?"

"You don't seem surprised... you expected that to happen!"

"Not expected, but I figured it might. Look, whatever gives them a chance..." John shrugs uncomfortably.

"I didn't realize we were operating the John Sheppard Closet for Wayward Officers," Rodney says. John gives him an unhappy look and Rodney spreads his hands. "What? I don't _mind,_ I just prefer to know what's going on under my nose."

He shuts up as Jennifer passes and gathers a few remaining blankets to take back to the dining area. Once she's gone, he adds, "Anyway. I'm just glad we christened the place last week, because if they'd been the first ones to have sex in our house I might've had to insist that we move."

"We practically rebuilt this place, you nut."

"I know! So I would've been extremely pissed off about it."

John snorts, shaking his head, and wraps his arms and the blankets around Rodney's shoulders. "Pretty sure we could've reclaimed it easy enough," John murmurs into his ear.

"We should kick everyone out and start on that right now."

"Tempting. But then who's going to be stuck cleaning up all this stuff?"

Rodney turns in John's arms and leans back against his chest, holding the blankets closed around them both and watching their friends: the chess game, the drinkers, the dancers, laughter coming from the kitchen.

"Oh, all right," he says. "I guess they can stay."


End file.
